Ragnelle
by Harper Rose Mitchell
Summary: An innocent autumn hunting trip turns into an unexpected wedding of Gwaine to an ugly hag by the name of Ragnelle, spurring a question not often asked in the Middle Ages- What is it women desire most? Inspired by the Legend of Dame Ragnelle. Rated T for some suggestive answers to said question. (GwainexRagnelle)


Prologue:

_"My lady?"_

_I look at my reflection in the mirror, and frowning, adjust my veil one last time._

_"Mm?"_

_"The horses are ready."_

_Smiling, I turn to my friend, who stands in the doorway in his dramatic gold cape._

_"Then what are we waiting for?" I take his hand and walk out of the room, ready for the grand show we're about to put on. _

It was autumn in Camelot. The leaves were lovely shades of gold, red, and orange, the normally green orchards were full of crisp apples, and the men of Camelot, upped on testosterone, decided it was the perfect time of the year to go out and shoot at things (in most cases- everything but each other).

Although the Royal Hunting Trips took more planning, it was the same general idea. Time limit- none, Target- everything, Equipment- horses, cross bows, and ale, Date- everyday.

This was probably the tenth hunting trip the knights had gone on, and if Merlin had found it tedious before, he was about to collapse now. Still, he was woken up at the crack of dawn by Arthur, told to sneak some chicken legs out of the kitchen, and given the honorable job of carrying the food on his back.

Gwen smirked slightly, and reminded Merlin that it was improper for a queen to go on a hunt, and therefore she was allowed to curl back up in her warm, comfy, bed, and sleep until lunch, as she helped him shove in the wooden mugs for the ale.

"Merlin! What's taking so long? We're going to miss all the stags!" Arthur called from somewhere down the corridor.

"Coming sire!" Merlin answered, grabbing his knapsack and the picnic basket and racing out the door.

Two hours later and morning light was just beginning to seep through the leaves of the trees overhead as the men plodded along the muddy trail. The day had begun with a lovely, freezing, rain storm, and although Merlin sat on his horse shivering in his thin clothes, the knights pressed on, unfazed.

"Sire!" Percival hissed from behind Merlin. Arthur continued to clamber on noisily in his armor.

"SIRE!" Percival hissed again.

"What?" Arthur asked rather loudly.

Percival gestured up hill, at a beautiful red stag standing majestically in the light of the dawn, completely oblivious to the large group of men with crossbows and various other deadly weapons at the bottom of the small mountain.

"Oh." Arthur murmured, and Merlin knew that expression. The very determined I-am-the-great-King-Arthur-on-a-hunt-I-shall-bring -home-a-dead-animal-to-impress-people-namely-my-wi fe. He slowly lifted his crossbow, closing one eye, a finger resting on the trigger. He inhaled gently, closed his other eye, and-

The strap holding the picnic basket onto Merlin's snapped suddenly, and all he could do was watch in shock as the basket crashed to the ground loudly, dozens of chicken legs flying everywhere and a small keg of ale bursting open.

The stag took off, leaping gracefully away. Arthur barely even had time to turn and freeze Merlin with a glare before he went off, chasing the stag deeper into the forest. Merlin, with no choice but to follow him, spurred his horse into a gallop and held on tight as they crashed through the forest like a pair of lumbering elephants.

It was a few seconds before Merlin realized that no one was following them, that the rest of the knights were all back at the trail. And then he saw why. He was galloping towards a large dark sign that read,

"Inglewood Forest- Enter At Own Risk."

Every child in the kingdom knew the horror stories of Inglewood Forest. Spirits that would tear you apart and use your assorted body parts and those of other victims to make devilish monsters that feasted on children who dared to disobeyed their parents.

After a certain age, of course, such tales were seen as silly ways of keeping the offspring in line, but there were other stories too. True stories. Of young girls who visited the famed Well of Inglewood Forest, seeking the love potion that apparently flowed in it, only to be found dead and deformed maliciously weeks later- of hunters who strayed into the forest and were found cooked on a spit, a ready meal for some creature.

But this does not seem to bother Arthur, who cantered on as if this was Happy Rainbow Meadow, not the setting of gruesome, possibly true, horror tales.

Merlin slows, wondering how many days in the stocks he would get for turning back. But before he can, he hears a triumphant yell, and he trots forward.

Arthur has leapt from his stallion, and stands over the body of the dead red stag, his foot on its chest, an arrow poking out of its side.

"Look at this Merlin! It's a red stag! Do you have any idea how rare these are? Most people don't even think they exist! And I shot one! Ha ha! Wait til Guinevere and the other knights see this!"

The Great King of Camelot is doing a sort of victory jig around the dead animal, not realizing that it's slowly disappearing, taking the arrow with it. Or that a man in a long gold cape has appeared in its place, carrying a large golden ax.

"Arthur…" Merlin says, but he continues his dance.

"KING ARTHUR THE GREAT!" booms the man in the golden cape. Arthur whips around, terror on his face.

"My stag!" He yelps. "You took it!" He grabs his crossbow and aims it at the man, and then realizes that he's out of arrows somehow, and that the man he's threatening is at least a foot taller. And carrying an ax. He puts down the crossbow.

"I AM SIR GROMER SOMER JOURE! THE POWERFUL AND MIGHTY! AND I HAVE A CHALLENGE FOR YOU!" Sir Gromer bellows. Merlin has absolutely no idea who this man is, but apparently Arthur does, as his eyes widen and he looks as if he's about to pee his pants.

"But that's not possible! My father killed you before my mother was even pregnant with me! You're dead!"

Sir Gromer laughs, a screeching sound that sounds like a strangled parakeet.

"THIS IS INGLEWOOD FOREST! WHERE THE DEAD WALK ANEW AND SEEK VENGEANCE FOR WRONGS COMMITED AGAINST THEM IN THEIR FORMER LIVES!" Arthur looks ready to faint.

"Surely you understand that I did not kill you nor would I ever-"

Sir Gromer chuckles.

"SILLY MORTAL. I HAVE NO QUALM AGAINST YOU. YOUR FATHER WAS A BASTARD AND WHAT DID I EXPECT, KILLING HIS PATHETIC COUSIN."

"Now, wait just a minute-"

"IT IS ONE OF YOUR KNIGHTS OF THE CIRCULAR TABLE WITH WHOM I HAVE A QUARREL- SIR GWAINE."

"Sir Gwaine?! What did he ever did to you?"

"NOT HE, BUT HIS FATHER! SIR GWAINE THE SENIOR, SIR GWAINE THE LAND SWINDLER! THAT MAN TOOK EVERYTHING BUT THE CAPE OFF MY BACK!"

"I am sure that Sir Gwaine will return the land in question-"

"WHAT USE IS THE LAND TO ME NOW? I'M DEAD! INSTEAD, I HAVE A QUESTION FOR THE LORD OF SIR GWAINE. IN OTHER WORDS- YOU."

"Yes? I am quite confident that I can supply the answer-"

"NOT NOW! YOU HAVE ONE YEAR TO FIND THE ANSWER! AFTER THAT YEAR, YOU WILL RETURN HERE, TO THIS VERY SPOT, ON THIS VERY DAY, AT THIS VERY HOUR, IN THOSE VERY CLOTHES! WITH THAT VERY SERVANT!" Sir Gromer gestures at Merlin.

"And if I don't?"

"YOU DIE. AS DOES THE SERVANT. IF YOUR ANSWER IS INCORRECT- YOU DIE. AS DOES THE SERVANT. IF YOUR SOCKS ARE NOT THE SAME-" Merlin gulps audibly.

"I die. As does the servant."

"DO NOT TEST ME MORTAL. HERE IS MY QUESTION; WHAT IS THAT WOMEN MOST DESIRE?"

"What is it that women most desire?!"

"GOOD. YOU COMPREHEND. DO NOT FORGET, KING ARTHUR, OR YOU WILL REGRET." And with that, Sir Gromer Somer Joure is gone.

"Wait, how will I find you?" Arthur yells after him. Sir Gromer briefly returns, and slams the golden ax down into the tree stump with a mighty swing, before smiling widely and disappearing in a golden cloud.

Arthur and Merlin look at each other in shock, still not able to fully process what exactly just happened. In a trance, Arthur walks forward, as if to touch the golden ax planted in the stump. Suddenly, a voice booms from the clouds-

"DO NOT TOUCH THE AX!"

a/n: I realize that this story has probably been told several times before in the Merlin fandom in various fanfics, but I loved this legend too much to not rehash it in my own way. Sorry if I steal anyone's ideas unintentionally, though I promise you I didn't go to your fanfic and write down all of your ideas. And yes, Sir Gromer is a distant relative of Thor in my head canon.


End file.
